


The Space Between

by bluebird_in_wonderland



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Related, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Intimacy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebird_in_wonderland/pseuds/bluebird_in_wonderland
Summary: (Disclaimer: While I would never presume to write as well as Mr. Gaiman or Mr. Pratchett, this work is intended to be according to canon, true to the characters and the existing plot. It is written as an "Afterword", filling in the purposeful gap left for dramatic denouement in the *television version* of the story.)- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Yes, another Post-Tadfield, but watch the before and after again...this is what *really* happened in between. ;-)After the Armageddon that wasn’t, Aziraphale and Crowley are left wondering about Agnes’ prophesy regarding “choosing faces”. Crowley invites the angel to stay at his place since the bookstore has burned down, and Aziraphale decides to accept the demon’s invitation so they can work out what to do next. We know how it turns out in the end, but what happened in the space between?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	The Space Between

The angel and the demon rode the bus to Crowley’s flat in relative silence, each thinking his own thoughts about Agnes Nutter’s prediction and what it meant. They had both experienced enough fulfilled prophesies in their long existence to know to take this one seriously.

Aziraphale couldn’t concentrate on the prophesy, however. He was still puzzled, trying to understand why Heaven had been so adamant on the war in the first place. Hadn’t he bitten his tongue over the incident with the flood, and even Sodom and Gomorrah? Couldn’t the Almighty just do away with the _worst_ of them…why _all_ of them? There was nothing Great or Ineffable about that Plan. It seemed that he just didn’t belong with the angels anymore. He had always steadfastly defended those on “his side”, but now he no longer recognized them. _Have they changed, or have I?_ He figured he knew the answer.

And now he and Crowley had deliberately and irreverently stopped Armageddon. This was going to come with substantial punishment. His heart nearly stopped at the realization. _Will they cast me out?_ He imagined the devastating fall that Crowley must have endured. He glanced sadly at his friend next to him, slouched in the seat and staring straight ahead, apparently lost in his own reverie. But no, casting him out would be the wrong choice. Heaven would see it as a reward for the “other side”, just another to bolster Hell’s defenses. There could only be one option for him: complete elimination. He swallowed hard.

Arriving outside Crowley’s flat, Aziraphale looked around anxiously. _When will the angels make their move? Will I be disintegrated on the spot?_ He reasoned that he would made into an example; a warning of what would happen if an angel decided to fraternize with a demon and thwart major global destruction. _Will it be torture? Is Heaven even capable of torture_?

In the foyer, Aziraphale stopped abruptly and stared, distracted from his internal monologue. He had never been to Crowley’s flat. Every time the two of them spent time pondering the mysteries of the universe together, it had always been at the bookstore. Crowley’s front room was decked out in the latest modern décor and appeared torn directly from the pages of _Architectural Digest_. However, there were two obvious exceptions. The first was a lavish throne, ostentatiously placed in front of a pristine and equally ornate desk. This didn’t surprise Aziraphale, however; he frankly would expect nothing less from Crowley. But the large frame on the wall gave him pause.

“Crowley?” the angel called with curiosity.

Crowley had excused himself upon entering to obtain a case of wine from the cellar (Aziraphale did not find it at all odd that an ordinary flat in central London would have a cellar, or that said cellar would have its own separate set of stairs). Crowley pushed through the doorway, hauling the crate.

“Yes, Angel? I thought we could start with this one. I have several more, ‘course, and we’re in for a long night, but if…”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted, cocking his head to one side. “Is that the sketch DaVinci gave you?”

“Yeah, do you remember? He gave me the first drawing for the Mona Lisa. Personally, I think this one’s better than the final painting,” Crowley said, glancing at it with a shrug.

“Hm…you’ve kept it all this time,” mused Aziraphale thoughtfully, as Crowley handed him a bottle.

“Lemme introduce you to my plants,” Crowley said proudly, strutting toward the hall.

Crowley wanted to distract the angel since he appeared nervous. And understandably so. On the bus ride, Crowley had come to terms with his own fate. Hell would punish his affiliation with an angel and the hand he played in stopping Armageddon, the latter being far more significant than the former. Naturally, his lot didn’t actually care if he spent time with someone from “upstairs” because there was virtually no possibility that a demon would ever be able to get back into God’s grace, so it wasn’t really an issue. Most of them assumed that if a demon was hanging out with an angel, it was because he was tempting the angel to fall, so they were fine with that. But stopping the war? That was inexcusable. Hell would simply discuss an appropriate public torture, and then eradicate him from existence. He had seen countless demons over the years be mercilessly crushed and subsequently exterminated as punishment for various crimes.

 _Has Aziraphale recognized the seriousness of his situation?_ Crowley wondered. _Of course, he has. He knows this is the end of both of us unless we can find a way out of this somehow._ His heart lurched at the thought of what Heaven might do to his best friend. Well, he assumed it was his heart, although he wasn’t aware that he had one.

Crowley thought back to everything that had happened in the past few days. When he had arrived at the bookshop, only find out it was on fire, he was naturally concerned. Once he was inside, however, he suddenly realized he could no longer sense Aziraphale’s presence anywhere on Earth. His mind reeling, he was convinced that he had lost the angel forever. In that horrifying moment, Crowley was gripped with a soul-wrenching pain that had brought him to his knees. It was the same agony he had felt when Heaven had cast him out. _Wait a minute. I felt the same about losing Aziraphale as I did when I fell from the grace of God_? He stopped walking abruptly at the realization.

“Crowley, are you alright?” asked Aziraphale, sidestepping awkwardly into a jungle of leaves to avoid running into his friend.

“Yeah,” answered Crowley with a slight shake of his head. “Here, I think you’ll like this one best.” Crowley gestured to a tree in the far corner.

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed with glee. “Pears!”

“Take a couple;” suggested Crowley, “they’ll be great with the wine. I’ll get some cheese and a knife from the kitchen.” Crowley shot a meaningful look at the tree, which appeared to shudder in response.

Aziraphale watched this exchange between tree and demon with utter confusion. _Now I’m hallucinating. I definitely need some wine to calm my nerves_ , he thought with a deep breath.

Crowley had aggressively raised a perfect specimen of a Comice pear tree several years earlier, based on a conversation he had with Aziraphale in St. James Park in 1862. He never knew if the angel would have occasion to enjoy the pears, but he tended it meticulously, just in case. Despite the thousands of years he had known Aziraphale, he never tired of the exclamations of pleasure when the angel discovered a new dish or shared a favorite food with him. Sneaking a glance at his enraptured friend upon returning from the kitchen, Crowley realized he would probably never tire of it.

With his customary swagger, Crowley led Aziraphale over to a small leather couch. A fire leapt up from the logs in the gas fireplace with an upward snap of Crowley’s fingers. Setting down all their items on the coffee table, they sat down on the sofa, and Aziraphale pulled the prophesy from his waistcoat pocket.

Aziraphale knew they had both already committed it to memory, but he read it aloud anyway. “Prophecy 5004: When all is sayed and all is donne, ye must choose your faces wisely, for soon enough ye will be playing with fyre.”

They drank and pondered, and then drank some more.

“Aha!” said Crowley abruptly, sitting up straight and flinging his arms wide. “I think I understand!” 

“Does it have to do with dolphins?” asked Aziraphale wryly, cutting one of the pears into perfect slices.

“We’ve gotta switch places,” said Crowley, ignoring the sarcasm. “Think about it: each of the sides will institute a punishment that will obliterate us.” He thought for a moment. “The flames of Hell for you, for example.”

Aziraphale made a scornful face. “And holy water for you, perhaps?” he ventured.

“Exactly,” agreed Crowley, his eye twitching at the mention of the deadly substance. “The only way to survive will be for me to pretend to be you, and vice versa. We have to choose our faces, just like Agnes said.”

“So…put on each other’s physical forms?” considered Aziraphale. “Hm. That just might work.” He handed a slice of the pear to Crowley. “But it could be dangerous for us to maintain the prolonged contact needed for the transfer to take place. Anytime you and I have ever touched, however briefly, I have felt…well, it’s an unusual sensation. It’s a bit like…electricity.” He paused. “Of course, it’s not _painful_ or anything…”

Aziraphale’s words drifted off as he thought of the recent encounter in the former convent when Crowley had run at him because he had called the demon ‘nice’. He smiled inwardly at the memory… the feeling of Crowley’s hands wrapped in his collar, his whole body pressing him against the wall, and the heady scent of cinnamon and cloves from Crowley’s cologne. Aziraphale’s eyes had nearly crossed trying to look at the demon when he was that close. It had been an uncharacteristically spontaneous decision for him to _deliberately_ aggravate his friend. He wasn’t even sure why he had done it. It had worked, though, and the result had been…well, it was more fascinating than he had expected. He looked away, suddenly feeling very warm. The wine must be getting to him.

“Yeah,” Crowley mused, slowly running his finger around the rim of his glass, then setting it down to swig directly from the bottle. “I get that sensation, too. Electricity’s a good way to describe it. So, we have to figure out if we can even _maintain_ contact first. I think we’ll just have to try it and find out what happens. If either of us feels like we’ll discorporate, we stop and think of a Plan B.”

Crowley folded one foot under his opposite leg and turned to face Aziraphale. Draping his right arm over the back of the sofa, he held out his left hand, and then let it drop, resting casually palm up on his outstretched knee. The angel looked at Crowley’s hand, then angled himself on the couch to face him. Aziraphale could see his own reflection in Crowley’s glasses, and he noticed he looked terrified. That wouldn’t do. He was the Angel of the Eastern Gate! Well, he used to be anyway. He sat up straight, adjusted his waistcoat, took a deep breath, and placed his hand confidently in Crowley’s.

The strange feeling started as soon as their hands touched. Aziraphale had never had any other sensation like it. It was a tingling warmth that careened through his body, like the Bentley flying around a corner. As they continued the contact, he noticed that the feeling was primarily concentrated low in his abdomen. It felt like hummingbirds were trapped inside, desperate to escape. He cleared his throat, which had suddenly become rather dry. “H-how do you feel, Crowley?” he stuttered.

Crowley was trying desperately to control his breathing. It has suddenly sped up without his permission, and he was not pleased at this. He gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on regaining command of himself.

“I’m fine,” he lied. Crowley felt an unexplainable warmth creeping across his chest, up his neck to his ears, and absently wondered if he would catch on fire. He noticed that Aziraphale had an unusual expression on his face.

“How are _you_ doing, Angel?” Crowley asked with concern, continuing to fight his own internal struggle. Aziraphale’s expression was so familiar, Crowley thought, but he couldn’t place it. His mind was a bit fuzzy from the wine. But he knew he had seen it before somewhere else….

“I’m…excellent, really,” murmured Aziraphale. He was giving in to the warm feeling. It was so enjoyable; it was better than crêpes! He didn’t feel like he would discorporate, but the hummingbirds kept getting stronger, sending pleasant shivers up his spine. He longed to take off Crowley’s glasses so he could see him better, but he didn’t want to break their connection. He found himself slowly leaning toward the demon, seemingly against his will. It was as if an invisible cord was pulling him closer, although he did not know why. He wondered if this was dangerous, but he couldn’t seem to find the words to say it out loud.

With a startled cry, Crowley suddenly flung Aziraphale’s hand down. Staring horrified at the angel, Crowley leaped off the sofa.

“What is it? Are you alright?” exclaimed Aziraphale, alarmed. “Crowley, what’s wrong?”

“No, no, this won’t work at all,” muttered Crowley. “I won’t! It’s not worth _that_!” Crowley was pacing and talking to himself, hands waving frantically.

Aziraphale sprang up from the sofa and inserted himself directly in Crowley’s path. “Crowley! Stop _right now_ and tell me what is wrong!”

Crowley stopped and stared at Aziraphale. “I won’t be responsible for your fall! I can’t! I…I…” He closed his eyes to regain his composure. He took a deep breath. “Argh! Fine. I’ll say it. You are…too important to me,” he said firmly with a grimace.

Aziraphale stared back at Crowley, confused. “What are you talking about? I am not falling anywhere! Look at me -- I’m fine!”

Crowley was quiet for a moment, glaring down at the floor. Aziraphale patiently waited for him to explain himself. “I saw that look in your eyes, Aziraphale. I know that look, because I have planted it in tens of thousands of humans over the centuries.” Crowley started pacing again. “I mean, it was always so simple…it was fast way to meet the end-of-month temptation quotas with hardly any effort. Humans are absurdly susceptible to it.” He gestured grandly. “Just pick any random two…snap of the fingers…they’re sneaking off to a corner. Works nearly every time. Temptation accomplished.” Crowley smiled ruefully.

Aziraphale searched his friend’s face for signs of a joke, but Crowley was scowling.

“Are you telling me…that you…you were _tempting_ me just now?” Aziraphale asked incredulously. “That’s ridiculous. With what?” 

“One of the seven, Aziraphale. You do _that_ , and you’re sure to fall! Not on my watch,” he said resolutely, shaking his head. He started muttering stubbornly, almost to himself. “I didn’t mean to do it. I just…I wasn’t even _trying_ …I guess it’s just part of who I am….” Crowley sighed with frustration.

“Seven? Deadly sins?” asked Aziraphale, still trying to understand Crowley’s logic. He mused over them, mumbling quietly, “...Pride, wrath, sloth…avarice? I don’t recall any material goods being involved here…”

“No, you ridiculous angel! Lust!” 

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. “That delicious, tingling feeling… it was _lust_?” exclaimed Aziraphale in shock. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Crowley marched toward Aziraphale, eyes blazing under the glasses, causing the angel to back up a couple steps until his back touched the wall.

 _This is getting to be a habit_ , thought Aziraphale.

Crowley jabbed a finger at the angel’s chest. “Yes, you will be damned, if we go that route again!” Crowley started pacing once more.

“Crowley. That won’t happen, “said Aziraphale confidently. “Why would Heaven deliberately reward Hell with a new member? Plus, we have already agreed that I am sentenced to _obliteration_. Nothing I do now will change that.”

Crowley stopped walking. “Hm.” He contemplated for a moment. “Ok. Maybe you’re right.”

“Yes, I am,” Aziraphale said smugly.

Crowley was silent, continuing to think. “I still don’t want to cause you any discomfort,” he said quietly.

Aziraphale tugged at his waistcoat. “That was not discomfort, I promise you. Now, shall we try again?” he asked, holding out his hand.

It was Crowley’s turn to look apprehensive. He stared at Aziraphale’s outstretched hand.

“Crowley, look at me,” the angel insisted. “Anything I do or don’t do is of my own volition. It is not _your_ responsibility. I am capable of making my own choices. You do not have the power over me that you might think you do.” Aziraphale silently wondered if this were true, but he maintained his unwavering composure.

Crowley nodded slightly. He took off his glasses and hooked them on his narrow scarf. Then he slowly placed his hand in Aziraphale’s.

The tingling began again, but this time it was more familiar, so it wasn’t as surprising. Spontaneously, Aziraphale reached out and clasped Crowley’s other hand, causing the demon to take a step forward, reducing the space between them. Crowley’s breathing was still much faster than he approved of, but this time he allowed it to be. He also permitted himself to experience a controlled amount of the warmth rather than fighting it as resolutely as he did before.

He observed that the angel’s eyes were the most mesmerizing color. Sure, he had gazed at them countless times before, by sneaking glances out of the sides of his glasses, but he had never seen them this brilliant or this clear. Crowley found himself being drawn into them, as if they were a shining gateway to a road beyond. A road that stretched into a beautiful, magnificent place. A road that led to home. He suddenly wanted to take the angel in his arms and never let him go. Disconcerted by this unexpected desire, he thought, _Can angels also tempt demons?_

As Aziraphale gazed back at Crowley, he felt a wave of affection envelop them both. “I would like to try something, Crowley, if that is alright with you,” he asked.

“Alright,” Crowley said without hesitation.

Crowley had to swallow the urge to follow with: _I’ll do anything you want, as long as you promise to stay with me forever._

Aziraphale leaned toward Crowley, and slowly brushed his lips lightly against his cheek. Then the angel pressed his lips gently to the demon’s. Crowley inhaled sharply. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath.

Aziraphale drew back and gazed into Crowley’s amber eyes, blinking softly.

 _He truly does look like an angel_ , Crowley thought with stunned admiration.

“There,” said Aziraphale with quiet satisfaction, hands still clasped with Crowley’s. “I indulged in my feelings, yet I did not burst into flame or plummet through the floor. I think lust is only a deadly sin if it is not housed within the confines of love.”

Crowley vaguely heard what the angel said, but most of it was drowned out by the beating of his heart. Apparently, he did have a heart after all! And right now, it was racing out of control. His body was flooded with foreign sensations that he had only heard about during the long, tedious lectures he had endured on the various temptations and how they rated on the scorecards for the quarterly reports.

“Are you alright, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, concerned. “Did that make you uncomfortable?”

As Crowley looked into the angel’s eyes, the demon’s control over his human form shattered like a glass dropped on a tile floor. If he didn’t _do_ something, he was certain he was going to spontaneously combust. “What do _you_ think?” he growled.

Dropping Aziraphale’s hands, Crowley gently placed both of his on either side of Aziraphale’s face, taking a step forward that pushed the angel back against the wall yet again. As he slowly leaned in and kissed Aziraphale tenderly, the angel’s reality imploded around him. Everything Aziraphale thought he understood about the universe was completely wrong. It wasn’t about who was on which side, or even what those sides represented or believed. It was about an angel and a demon uniting to save the world. Together. The two of them _together_ was all that mattered.

Aziraphale responded to Crowley’s kiss with a passion that surprised them both. Their kiss deepened, and a soft whimper escaped from Aziraphale as he grasped at Crowley’s shirt, pulling him closer.

In that moment, the angel and the demon kissed with all the emotions that they had experienced for each other over the course of six millennia. Everything else fell away, and for the first time, they lost themselves completely in their feelings for one another. Time might have temporarily stopped, but no one knows for sure.

Several minutes later, Crowley gently pulled away and looked at Aziraphale.

“Everything still tickety boo, Angel?” he asked, a smile playing in his golden eyes.

Aziraphale had trouble finding his voice. “That was….um…so _that_ was….,” Aziraphale trailed off, blushing to the roots of his pale hair.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure that was lust,” said Crowley with a laugh.

“Now I see why the humans like it,” responded Aziraphale, straightening his tie and clearing his raspy throat. “As sins go, that’s not so bad.”

“Although it has caused some unusual side effects,” grimaced Crowley, shifting his snug trousers.

“Ah yes,” said Aziraphale, smoothing his own clothing. “I read about that once in a book. It appears to affect the male of the species more…um…obviously…than the female. There are apparently a couple ways to alleviate it quickly, but otherwise it will just get better on its own, in time.”

“I hope so,” grunted Crowley, gyrating again with a move that would have impressed Elvis. “What are the other ways?”

Aziraphale glanced down shyly and blushed again. “That might be a conversation for a different day. But we have work to do now, or there won’t be a different day left for us to discuss it. We now know we can handle…um…sustained contact...” He took a deep breath following this statement to try to calm his still-racing heart. “So, now we just have to practice shifting our corporeal forms and learn how to portray each other in a convincing way.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who was examining his glasses to ensure they weren’t broken from their embrace.

“If anyone can make it work, we can,” Crowley declared with a dazzling smile.

Crowley didn’t smile like that often, but when he did, it was breathtaking. When Aziraphale had first seen that smile outside the garden of Eden, his knees had buckled involuntarily, and he had to feign a cough to regain his balance. Now, the angel just allowed himself to be enveloped with the joy of it, especially when he realized he might be the cause.

Once they had indulged in another glass of wine and fully recovered, Aziraphale and Crowley decided to try the switch between their physical forms. Focusing on the process and not the connection (since the latter might cause another “episode”), they discovered it was much simpler than they had imagined, and neither suffered any unpleasant effects. Getting used to each other’s corporeal selves, however, was a different story.

The first thing Aziraphale struggled with was Crowley’s style of dress. “Now I see why you walk in such a unique way, Crowley. There’s no other way I _can_ walk in these pants!” Similarly, the angel kept colliding with furniture and other objects until he became accustomed to the dark glasses. After roughly an hour of practice, however, Aziraphale had mastered Crowley’s strut, his scowl, and his distinctive sprawling way of sitting. He was rather proud of himself. He also had to admit that he reveled in the feeling of _freedom_ he experienced while “being Crowley”.

Crowley, on the other hand, was having a bit more trouble. After spending six millennia in a lanky frame, he had no idea how to accommodate a few extra pounds. The demon tottered around awkwardly, grappling with the effort to copy Aziraphale’s formal style and restrained behavior. Despite having once played the part of Warlock’s nanny, sitting primly with his hands in his lap was especially difficult. “Argh! This is impossible!” Crowley finally exclaimed with frustration, standing up and pulling off the bowtie with a flourish, throwing it at a nearby wall. As the tie was made of fabric, the result was significantly less dramatic than he had hoped. He grumbled under his breath.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said sympathetically, picking up the tie while setting the dark glasses down on a nearby table. “You’ll get used to it. Here, I should teach you how to tie this anyway in case a circumstance arises where you need to know.”

Crowley scowled. Aziraphale smiled and tossed the tie over Crowley’s head, turning up his shirt collar. The demon listened absently while the angel chattered to him about how to cross, tuck, and pull to make a perfect bowtie, but he was more interested in how incredibly odd it was to watch his physical self from the outside. _Is this really what he sees when he looks at me?_ Crowley also noticed how their proximity was beginning to cause his breathing to speed up again.

“You can’t really see what I’m doing, can you?” asked Aziraphale with a smile, the angelic expression appearing foreign on the demon’s face. “Let’s go to the mirror.”

Crowley had propped a massive full-length mirror in the hallway near the entrance to his flat. Aziraphale had been using it to practice “his Crowley” for the past hour or so.

“It might be easier if I show you from your perspective,” said Aziraphale, parking Crowley in front of the glass. As the angel pulled the bow loose again, a sudden tingle shot through Crowley. Aziraphale positioned himself behind the demon, and their eyes met in the mirror. They both stopped and stared for a long moment.

Crowley heard his heart pounding in his ears. _Damn this human form!_ _And it’s not even MY human form!_ he thought. _What’s wrong with me?_

There had been several (ok, a lot) of occasions in the past 6000 years when Crowley had envisioned himself wrapped in the soft, strong arms of the angel. If he was being honest with himself (this was really only possible when he was very drunk), he adored Aziraphale's corporeal form, from his beautiful fair hair to his tartan _everything_. But physical forms didn't matter; he longed to be close to the _being_ that was Aziraphale. As he looked at their reflections in the mirror, backwards in two different ways, he wondered if his physical self was capable of bridging that space that had always existed between them. Could that be the key that would finally allow Aziraphale to understand how much he meant to him?

Noticing the shift in mood, Aziraphale hesitantly put his arms around the demon’s shoulders to demonstrate the first step of tying. Impulsively, Crowley reached up and clasped the angel’s hands, the meaning of the gesture clearly visible in his expression. The electric warmth flooded them both again. They both could see, mirrored back, the longing that was in their own eyes when they looked at the other.

“Are you tempting me again, Crowley?” Aziraphale coquettishly asked his own reflection in the glass.

His self-control having been annihilated earlier in the evening; Crowley found himself spontaneously acting on his desires. He closed his eyes and kissed the back of Aziraphale’s right hand. It no longer registered that this was actually the hand of his own corporeal form. He didn't care. It was Aziraphale.

“I think ’s the other way ‘round, Angel," Crowley purred. "Your manner of teaching is very…distracting.” He turned Aziraphale’s hand over and lustily kissed the right palm, drawing his lips and tongue up and down each finger in turn.

“Oh…my.” Aziraphale whispered. Unexpectedly light-headed, the angel marveled at how quickly and readily his human form responded to this change in physical and conversational direction. On several occasions throughout the years, Aziraphale had found himself thinking very un-angel-like thoughts about his demon companion. When Crowley would drape himself _just so_ across a couch or dress his physical form in an ensemble that highlighted his best (ahem) features, the angel would have to deliberately avert his eyes. He had often blamed these desires on the shortcomings of his human form. But watching their reflections just now in the mirror, Aziraphale recalled how the Almighty had created humans in Her image. Being a human was not a detriment, but an immense privilege, despite the fact that the majority of humans had absolutely no idea how fortunate they really were. Aziraphale knew that humans had remarkable ways of expressing their love for each other. And against all better judgement, and no matter how hard he had tried to resist it, Aziraphale loved Crowley. He loved him as purely and completely as any being could love another. For six millenia, he had let all manner of fears keep him from expressing those feelings, but maybe, with nothing left to lose, he could finally show that love to Crowley now.

Allowing his conscious mind to succumb to physical instinct, Aziraphale freed his left hand from Crowley’s to allow his left arm to grasp the demon firmly around the waist. The angel stepped in, pressing himself fiercely to Crowley’s back and holding him tight. Crowley gasped aloud. The demon had always enjoyed observing the contrast between the angel’s typical soft kindness and his occasional sword-wielding intensity. This was clearly one of the latter displays, and Crowley’s head spun with the emotional and physical feelings it generated in him.

Aziraphale heard his own rough breathing as he closed his eyes and permitted his sudden arousal to command his actions. His lips found their way to Crowley’s neck, trailing an urgent, ravenous path along the collar and up toward his ear.

Crowley felt dizzy as the angel's ardent kisses caused a smoldering heat to race through him. “I thought _I_ was the fast one,” he exhaled into Aziraphale’s palm.

With simultaneous unspoken agreement, they transferred their forms back to their typical preferred appearance, so that when Crowley turned around, he was looking into the unfathomable depths of the angel’s eyes once more.

Crowley reached up and ran his fingers through the angel’s soft hair. His hands traced gentle lines as they drifted down to the shirt collar, around which the strip of cloth still lay untied. As Crowley’s fingers landed lightly at the base of Aziraphale’s neck, he felt a desperate, deep longing for…something, but he didn’t know what that something was. He suppressed a growl in the back of his throat. It seemed whenever he touched Aziraphale, he felt perfectly complete and utterly incomplete simultaneously, and it was maddening.

Slowly sliding two fingers in each side of the collar, he unfastened the top button of the angel’s shirt. “I think I need to rid us both of this _infernal_ tie,” Crowley breathed. "And maybe everything that goes with it." Intoxicated with the unfamiliar yearning, the demon was convinced his hands were moving without any conscious instruction. At the same time, the angel reached out blindly, his grasp finding purchase with the loops through which Crowley’s belt was threaded, and pulled their hips closer together.

Leaning in, Crowley breathed the rich, sweet blend of frankincense, orange, and cedar. The angel always smelled like a lush green forest right after a late spring rain. Aziraphale moaned softly as Crowley lingered a series of evocative kisses along his throat while simultaneously releasing a second button from the shirt.

Lifting his gaze, Crowley saw that the angel melted at his every touch, which fueled his own longing. With a delicate finger, he traced a trail across the top of Aziraphale’s collarbone and underneath the shirt across the crest of his shoulders.

Aziraphale forgot to breathe. All this time, his human form had capacity for these bewildering, marvelous feelings, but he had never known it. His entire body vibrated like a harp string that had recently been played.

A glint of light from over Crowley’s shoulder tore Aziraphale’s gaze away momentarily. Through the nearby window, a sliver of illumination appeared, and the cheery twitter from a bird floated through to his ears. Realization poured like a bucket of ice water over the angel’s head. Reluctantly, Aziraphale reached up and grasped Crowley’s wrists.

“It’s dawn,” he said sadly, closing his eyes, rejecting the impulse to fervently pray for more time. He rested his forehead against Crowley’s shoulder and sighed deeply. “It’s show time.”

Aziraphale’s words sobered Crowley in an instant. His stomach lurched painfully as he suddenly remembered that within the next few hours, he could lose the angel forever. It was the bookstore fire all over again. Crowley's legs suddenly felt weak, and he had to hold on to Aziraphale so he didn’t collapse.

“Aziraphale, I….” blurted Crowley. “If this all goes wrong….” he trailed off, completely incapable to put his feelings into words. “I just want…I need you to know that I….” He searched his friend’s face, trying to find the right thing to say. He stared back at the floor. “Damn.”

The angel blinked slowly, tears unexpectedly pricking the corners of his eyes.

“Yes. I know.” He placed his hand under Crowley’s chin and lifted it until their eyes met. “Me, too.”

Crowley took a deep breath, recovering from his ineptitude. He could sense that Aziraphale knew what he was trying to say, even if Crowley didn't really understand it himself. The demon was very grateful for that. Even more, he could sense that the angel felt exactly the same way. Crowley's heart leaped as he saw the angel finally let down the stubborn emotional guard he had held in place for so long. They looked at each other for several moments, saying everything without uttering a single syllable. Aziraphale felt a wave of love wrap both of them like a warm, soft blanket.

Aziraphale suddenly understood that he had spent thousands of years pushing Crowley away, when they were always meant to be together. He had been rude, unfair, and downright mean to the being that mattered most to him in the whole world, and the angel knew he didn't deserve even one ounce of Crowley's love. But then, Crowley was more of an angel that most angels he knew. If they survived this last challenge, Aziraphale vowed to himself, and boldly decided that he would even vow to Crowley, that he would spend the rest of eternity trying to make it up to him.

“Ok. Let’s do this,” Crowley declared, gradually regaining his typical unflustered composure. “If we assume a business-style transaction, maybe it will keep us from…” He raised one eyebrow. “…getting distracted. Despite the fact that I enjoyed that distraction _very_ much.” He thrust his hand out matter-of-factly in a handshake display.

“Agreed. On both counts. In fact...um...if we make it through this...um...well...perhaps we can pick up where we left off? You know, someday?" Aziraphale asked sheepishly, twisting his fingers in front of him.

A grin crept across the demon's face, his amber eyes shining. "I think we could work out an Arrangement."

With a smirk, the angel reached out to shake Crowley's hand, and the two transformed into each other once again.

Without even glancing at the mirror, Crowley reached up and deftly refastened his collar and created a perfect bow tie.

Aziraphale gaped. “But you…why did you…?”

Crowley looked at him slyly. “Did you really think I didn’t know how?”

The angel looked at him incredulously, then smiled and shook his head, picking up Crowley’s glasses from the nearby table where he had set them.

After a bit more practice in each other’s physical forms, they agreed that they were as ready as they were going to be. Something about seeing himself as Aziraphale in the mirror and exploring their newfound physical and emotional intimacy together had helped Crowley to understand what he needed to do. Knowing how completely destroyed he would be if he lost his best friend spurred him to launch every single fiber of his human and nonhuman being into the effort.

“We have to believe it will work,” said Aziraphale resolutely. “It’s prophesy.”

“It’s ineffable,” said Crowley with an eye roll as they walked out of the flat, closing the door behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> 12/26/19: Updated to add a bit more fluff and love, and a tiny bit more lust. I still very much welcome an ambitious artist that wants to capture the mirror moment. :-) Or any of them, really.


End file.
